


Just A Face On A Train

by katherynefromphilly



Category: Spider-Man (Movies - Raimi), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Feels, Fluff, Gen, Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-19
Updated: 2014-11-19
Packaged: 2018-02-26 06:53:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2642312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katherynefromphilly/pseuds/katherynefromphilly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As she approached the actually rather unremarkable looking young man, she felt a swell of doubt.  Was he really who she’d thought he was?  Spider-Man had been a giant of a man, someone she could easily imagine at the front of her train, gripping hundreds of webs with power enough to crush the train car into the shape of his body. </p><p>This boy looked barely able to carry his overstuffed backpack.  With his Oxford shirt and jeans and neatly combed hair, he could have been the poster child for a 1950s science scholarship.  Not someone you imagined facing down an eight-armed psychopath on a speeding train.</p><p>Half convinced she’d imagined the whole thing, Maggie crossed the diner and stepped up to his table.  After a moment he noticed her, lifting his attention from an open book full of equations and cracker crumbs to look right at her.</p><p>All doubt vanished when Maggie looked into his blue eyes and round face.  It was him.  No question. It was Spider-Man, right here at her table, waiting to order breakfast from her.</p><p>--------------</p><p>Originally posted on FanFiction.net.  Based upon the beautifully written "train scene" in Sam Raimi's Spider-Man 2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Monday

“Customers at one of your stations, Maggie.”

Maggie O’Reilly lifted her attention from her essay to watch four girls in low-rise jeans and pink GAP shirts seat themselves at one of her tables. So much for squeezing in any homework this morning, she thought, and tossed her pencil to the countertop. “Why,” she asked, “do all the college girls sit at my tables?”

Jackie Burkowski, the diner’s other day waitress, turned from the coffee station with carafe in hand. “Maybe they can tell you’re one of them.”

Maggie found that doubtful. Last time she’d been ‘one of them’ was ten years ago, during her initial directionless and uncommitted attempt at college. Ten years of bad retail jobs and waiting tables had much improved her academic focus. You live, you learn, she thought. She’d just taken longer to do it.

“Wolves are like that, y’know,” Jackie said.

“You know this because of your many years of living in Long Island?”

“I saw it on TV. You know. One of those animal shows. The guy said wolves hang out in packs. Tryin to figure out who’s the head wolf.” 

“So you’re saying I’m the head wolf?”

“I’m saying they think so. Must be the mom thing.”

Maggie watched the group of young girls at Table Eight primp and chat and pull out their cell phones and show not one sign that they were ever going to be ready to order. “Is that an age crack? Because you’re almost as old as I am-“

“I didn’t mean an old gray dumpy mom who sits around all day eating potato chips. I meant a young not even thirty years old mom- a hot blonde mom, mind you- who waits tables days and studies nursing nights to help provide for her family.”

Maggie decided to allow the young woman this bit of backpedaling. “That’s better.”

“A tribute to her pink polyester uniform,” Jackie continued. “An inspiration to women all over the Lower East Side-“

“Some days more than others.” Maggie said, and gave a long yawn, remembering well into the gesture that she should be covering her mouth. “Sorry.” 

“Oh, I am so very offended.” Jackie poured a cup of coffee and held it out to Maggie. “I take it the baby is still teething?”

“Either that, or she just enjoys waking Ted and I up three times a night. I cannot wait until she gets all her baby teeth. I can’t afford to sleep through my morning homework time again.” 

“You should have called out sick today. Enjoyed a day at home. Watched some soaps.”

“You and your soaps.” Maggie stowed her books beneath the counter, trying not to think about how much she would love a day off. Unfortunately such a thing was beyond her reach right now. Money was just too tight. Her waitress job and Ted’s construction work barely covered their bills. Her night nursing classes were covered by loans, but the books and the other expenses weren’t. God bless my mother-in-law’s free babysitting, she thought. Without it she and Ted would never make it through this financial pinch. 

“Hey, is this the week that the hubby is gone?” Jackie asked.

“All week in Jersey at the construction site.” Which was another reason Jackie’s idea wasn’t very appealing. Though she loved being with Erin, if she was home all day alone with her, she would probably spend her time worrying about Ted, up there on some half-built skyscraper of his, walking the steel girders.

“Well then,” Jackie said into her thoughts, “we should have a girls’ night. DVDs and wine and-“

“Formula and diapers.” Maggie smiled at Jackie’s exaggerated sigh. “Maybe in a few months we can start that up again. When I can be sure of more than four hours of sleep.”

“You sure?” Jackie asked, as she picked up several plates of food from the kitchen order counter. “A little wine might help the kidlet get some sleep.”

Maggie swatted Jackie’s arm with her order pad as the younger woman walked by. “Go tend to your customers, you delinquent,” she said, and after another gulp of coffee, followed her into the sea of tables. 

 

 

Two hours later the diner’s patrons had dwindled to one lone table of a few older ladies. Grateful for the break, Maggie resumed work on her essay. Three sentences into her first paragraph she heard the chime of the front entrance bell.

“Here comes another one,” said Jackie. She was perched on the stool next to Maggie, watching an episode of General Hospital on the diner’s TV. 

“Let me guess. Another Coffee-And-A-Bagel, right?”

“A big tipper for sure,” Jackie said, managing with her Long Island accent to put three syllables in the last word. “And he’s headin for Table Twelve.”

Maggie glanced up at the retreating back of the brown-haired young man who had entered the diner. Sure enough, he sat at the corner table, the one preferred by all poor college students seeking several hours of study time over a single cup of coffee.

“Yowza.” Jackie gave a suggestive whistle and elbowed Maggie, jostling her writing hand. “Wouldja look at this new doctor on General?”

“I guess that means you can’t do me a favor and take Table Twelve’s order for me?”

“Do you see this new doctor? Major hottie.”

Maggie erased the word “hottie” from the sentence she’d been writing. “Come on, Jackie, please? I’ll give you my next break-“

“Not for all the eligible bachelors on the Island, Mags.”

“How do you know that Table Twelve isn’t an eligible bachelor?”

“You see that overstuffed backpack? I like beefcake, not brains. This one’s yours.”

After stowing her schoolwork under the counter, Maggie walked through the maze of empty tables to where the young man sat digging through his backpack. “Good morning,” she said, and flipped over a new page in her tablet, in the vain hope that he was going to order enough worth writing down. “What can I get you?”

“I’ll be right with you.”

Maggie watched him shove two thick science books and a binder onto the table before locating his wallet at the bottom of his bag. When he opened it, she glanced at its contents. A library card, a driver’s license, a student ID, a photo of a pretty redhead, and three well mangled dollar bills. Oh yes, she thought. A big tipper for sure. “Should I come back in a few minutes?”

“I don’t suppose there’s a breakfast special for less than three dollars, is there?”

As he spoke, he looked up. When she saw his face, shock stole her breath from her. 

Sandy brown hair and wide blue eyes and a baby face, good God, she’d forgotten about his baby face, how had she forgotten about that- 

“Is something wrong?” 

Maggie couldn’t answer his question. Her thoughts were tangled in memories. 

Erin fussing in her arms and warm bodies pressing in on her as she stood staring down at the exposed face of the man on the train floor, his red and blue costume tattered and filthy, his body almost broken from the strain of stopping five train cars full of human beings from crashing five stories to the ground.

“Are you all right?” he asked, in a voice far softer than she’d ever imagined.

On shaking legs she staggered backward, somehow forcing out words. “Don’t- don’t go. I’ll be- I’m coming back. I- Okay?”

Without awaiting his response she fled into the ladies’ room, closing the door hard behind her, falling back against it. 

“Oh my God,” she breathed. “Spider-Man!”

Breathless and giddy, Maggie eased open the door and peeked back into the restaurant. 

It had been four months since that day on the train. Four months since he’d saved her and her daughter’s life. Often since then she’d often imagined what she would do if she met the young hero again. Not one of those times had she pictured herself in a ladies’ room, spying on him like some thirteen year old girl with a crush. 

He doesn’t remember me, she realized, and for a moment felt a profound sense of disappointment. But then her rational mind kicked in. Of course he doesn’t remember me. How many people has he saved in this city? He couldn’t possibly remember us all. 

Maggie watched him reach into his backpack and pull out another large book. Papers fell out as he opened it, and he bent to retrieve them. 

Spider-Man doing homework, she thought. No one will believe it.

But who could she tell anyway? She’d promised the young hero to keep his secrets, and she’d done so faithfully. Even her husband hadn’t gotten the description of Spider-Man’s appearance, though he did know what had happened that day. 

But what about her friends from the train? Gus and Ellen and Gary and all the rest would give anything to see him again. But that would mean a crowd, and a crowd could mean trouble. And he didn’t deserve that. Not after what he’d done for her. 

Through the crack in the door, Maggie watched him glance around, then snag a leftover packet of crackers from a nearby table Jackie hadn’t cleared yet. As he tore into them with the intensity of the half-starved, Maggie remembered the contents of his wallet.

And just like that, she knew what to do.

After patting her long blonde hair back into its bun and soothing nonexistent wrinkles from her waitress uniform, Maggie stepped out of the bathroom. 

As she approached the actually rather unremarkable young man, she felt a swell of doubt. Was he really who she’d thought he was? Spider-Man had been a giant of a man, someone she could easily imagine at the front of her train, gripping hundreds of webs with power enough to crush the train car into the shape of his body. 

This young man looked barely able to carry his overstuffed backpack. With his Oxford shirt and jeans and neatly combed hair, he could have been the poster boy for a 1950s science scholarship. Not someone you imagined facing armed criminals.

Half convinced she’d imagined the whole thing, Maggie stepped up to his table. After a moment he noticed her, and lifted his attention from an open book of equations and cracker crumbs to look up at her.

All doubt vanished when Maggie looked down into his blue eyes and round face. It was him, all right. It was Spider-Man, right here at her table, waiting to order breakfast from her.

She just couldn’t get over how normal he looked. She found it impossible to imagine him in his red-and-blues, crawling on the outside of her train car, trading blows with that maniac with the metal arms.

“Miss?” 

She realized she’d been staring quite a while without speaking. “I had to- I mean- there was- a problem.” 

“Is everything all right now?” 

She felt her cheeks grow warm. She was blushing. Damn she hated blushing. “I’m fine- It’s fine.” She glared down at her order pad. “So. Um. Let me tell you about the specials. This week we’re offering an off-hours deal. All you can eat breakfast. Just a dollar fifty.” 

“A dollar fifty?” he asked, his voice rising in pitch enough that Maggie wondered how long ago he’d graduated high school. “Seriously? All you can eat?”

She pointed to the breakfast platters on the left side of his menu. Not one of them was less than fifteen dollars. “Anything on there that you’d like.”

“Well… In that case… I’ll have the Supreme Platter.”

“That comes with a muffin, juice, and coffee.”

“How do you make any money giving away so much food?” 

“It’s slow this time of day. We need to bring in as many customers as we can. It’s a new thing. By offer only to college students who look particularly hungry.”

“Well you sure found one.”

Relieved that she’d survived this first interaction, Maggie put in his order and returned to her seat. In the corner of the diner, the city’s most famous hero sat alone, bent over his books, doing his homework.

“So what did he order?” Jackie asked.

“Huh? Oh. A Supreme.”

Jackie gave him a brief inspection. “With that old nappy jacket he’s ordering a Supreme? He should save his money and buy a decent coat instead.”

“Yeah,” Maggie said, half to herself. “A nice coat. That’s a good idea.”

Fifteen minutes later, Maggie delivered a tray full of plates to the corner table. Her hands no longer shook but her stomach held a swarm of angry butterflies. “Here you go, Sport.” 

He pushed his books and papers to the far side of the table as she set plate after plate in front of him. “Gosh, that looks great.” 

The man who can stop a train says gosh, she thought. Who even said gosh anymore? 

Over the next half hour she returned to his table twice for refills. Only when she showed up a third time with an unsolicited plate of pancakes did he lean back from the table, amazed that she was foisting even more food on him. “No more, please. I already won’t be able to eat anything until tomorrow.”

“The special runs all this week,” she said quickly. “So you can come back then.”

“I think I just might.”

She dug her fingernails into her palms to suppress a smile. “Here’s your check for today. When you’re done, bring it up front. I’ll ring you up.”

After only a short while he gathered his things and rose from his table. From behind the cash register, Maggie watched him shrug on his old jacket (he was her husband’s size, she was sure of it), pick up his backpack (was his costume in there? Or did he wear it under his clothes like Superman?) and approach her at the counter. 

She took his dollar fifty wishing she could return even this small amount. He shouldn’t have to pay for anything in this city, ever, as far as she was concerned.

After wishing her a good day, he joined the crowds outside. Maggie watched him walk down the sidewalk, amazed that someone so powerful could move so unnoticed among the unsuspecting public, a nuclear reactor amid millions of tiny sparklers.

A motion at Maggie’s side announced Jackie’s arrival. “Someone have a crush?”

“I do not have a crush,” Maggie informed her. 

“Oh, come on. You were fawning over that guy the whole time he was here. You can admit it. He is kinda cute, in a nerdy sort of way.”

“He is not nerdy,” Maggie said, though all the advanced science books she’d seen probably made a liar out of her. “And I do not have a crush. He’s- family- of mine. A nephew. On Ted’s side of the family. He just doesn’t remember me. It’s a long story,” she added, and before Jackie could pry any further, she went to clear his table.


	2. Tuesday

The next day Maggie showed up at work carrying her husband’s black woolen coat. He hadn’t worn it since she gave it to him last Christmas, and though he hadn’t told her it wasn’t his style, she knew this was the case. He would likely never miss it.

When Ted had called from the job site in Jersey last night, she’d surprised herself by not telling him about her encounter with Spider-Man. She was going to, but when Ted had asked about her day, she’d said simply that it had been fine. She wasn’t sure now if that had been the right thing to do. She never kept things from her husband. But this had felt too important to say over the phone. Saturday when he was back she would tell him face to face. A lot might happen between now and then anyway.

Just before eleven that morning, Maggie saw the young hero return. She caught his eye right away, pointing to the far table he’d occupied the day before. She’d been shooing customers away from it all morning, at the cost of one her breaks to Jackie.

After Maggie extricated herself from a group of indecisive older ladies, she made her way to his table. Hardly an inch of tabletop was visible for all the books and papers he’d spread out. “Back again, huh, Sport?”

“You kidding?” he asked, and proudly held up two dollars.

Just as she’d done the day before, Maggie ordered him a ridiculous amount of food. When it was ready, she carried it to his table with far less nerves than the day before. “What is that you’re studying?” she asked him, as he pushed books and papers out of the way for his plates. “Math?”

“Physics. Practically the same thing, of course,” he added, as if she’d known this, and he didn’t want to insult her by telling her. 

“I’ll take your word for it.” She tucked the empty tray under her arm. “If you need anything else, just holler. My name’s Maggie.”

“Thanks, Maggie.” He held out a hand to her. “I’m-“

“Sport,” she interrupted, and took his hand, wondering only after she’d gripped it if she were in danger of sticking to him. But his hand felt just like her husband’s: rough and strong. “I’ll call you Sport. Because, you know, you look, um, sporty. Athletic.”

Judging by the upward motion of his eyebrows this was a comment he didn’t hear very often. “Really?” 

“Like a runner. Thin. In shape. You run fast, I bet.”

One corner of his mouth pulled upward. “Pretty fast.”

“There. You see?” With a nervous laugh, she retreated behind the counter. He was going to tell me his name, she kept thinking. Why did I stop him from telling me his name?

A sound very much like a thick physics book hitting a linoleum floor made Maggie jump. Over in the corner, Sport bent over, visibly embarrassed, to pick up the book he’d knocked from the table.

“Sorry,” he said to the crowd at large, and received several disdainful looks from a group of teenaged girls who had jumped at the noise. The nearest of them made a face at him as he sat up, and in a voice that carried across the diner, said “dork”.

Maggie turned her back on the ensuing laughter, suppressing an urge to go over and whack the girl with her order tray. How dare she treat him like that, she thought. He deserved to be treated like the hero he was, not like some awkward college kid.

But then Maggie remembered what her friend Gary from the train had said about him. “Only a kid,” she whispered, and realized at least part of the reason why she’d stopped him from telling her his name. It was the same reason why she wanted to defend him now. She wanted to protect him. 

Maternal instinct kicking in again, Maggie thought. Damn, I am getting old.

Almost an hour later, after not two but three omelettes, Maggie noticed Sport gather his books together. After depositing her husband’s coat by the front register, Maggie headed to his table. On her way she noticed Jackie hauling out a huge plastic basin from deep under the coffee station. “What are you going to do with that old thing?” 

Jackie wiped dust off of the top rim of the basin. “Clear off Tables Two and Three.”

“You fill that up and you won’t be able to carry it.”

“Sure I will. I’ve been workin out, remember?” 

“Prowling for single doctors in the coffee shop at the gym does not count as working out,” Maggie pointed out, and received a gesture from the young Long Islander that would have horrified the group of old ladies who had just left the diner. 

When Maggie reached Sport’s table, she realized he’d retrieved his notebook from his backpack and was scribbling yet another equation in it. “Here’s your tab.”

He reached for the check without looking up. “Thanks, Maggie.” 

Maggie studied the complex diagram he was drawing a long moment, but came no closer to deciphering it than she had at first glance. “What’s that supposed to be?”

“Decay rate of hydrogen electron shells.” 

“Oh,” she said, as she watched him quickly write out an equation containing symbols she’d never seen on any calculator. “Looks, um, interesting.”

“Interesting but wrong. I can’t believe I almost forgot to factor in the rate of-“ 

The clatter of dishes interrupted him. Across the diner, Jackie was staggering under the strain of holding the huge basin and its mountain of dishes. As they shifted in the container, Jackie stumbled sideways, caught her ankle on a chair, and with a crash of dishware fell backwards. 

Maggie couldn’t remember later actually seeing Sport move from his seat. He was simply there across the diner, catching Jackie around the waist with his left arm, grabbing the soaring basin of dishes with his right. With ease he swung the heavy container over his head and back down, using the force of its arc to flatten its contents to its bottom. 

After setting the basin on a nearby table, he helped Jackie stand upright. She did so with what Maggie considered to be more than the necessary grabbing onto his arm. “How did you do that?” the young woman breathed.

He shrugged. “Just happened to be standing here.” 

Jackie gaped at him as he returned to his table. Only after he glanced over at Maggie twice while gathering his things did she realize she’d been staring too. 

“I work out sometimes,” he said, obviously feeling that an explanation was in order.

“Sporty,” she noted. “Just like I said.” 

Turning her back to hide her smile, she led him over to the cash register. After he’d paid, she pulled out her husband’s jacket from under the counter. “I thought you might be interested in this. I got it from Lost and Found. I think it’s your size.”

“This looks new.” He held the black wool jacket out at arm’s length. “I can’t take this. What if the person who lost it comes back?”

“It’s been there a year. We were going to trash it.” 

He turned the soft material over in his hands. “Well, if you’re sure… Okay. Thanks.”

As the door closed behind him, Maggie stepped over to the front plate glass window. Outside on the sidewalk she saw him set down his backpack and shrug off his old coat. The late fall sun shone down on his clothes as he moved, and for just a second, Maggie swore she could see a hint of red under the white of his dress shirt.

“Yowza,” came a voice from beside her. 

Maggie glanced over at Jackie’s profile. “Yowza?”

“You know. Wow. Zowie.” Jackie pressed her nose against the glass. “Yowza.”

“So now he rates a yowza?” 

“His tight little butt puts him way over the top.”

“Jackie!”

“What? So your nephew’s got a nice tuchus! Sue me for noticing. How can you not?”

“You didn’t notice yesterday. Remember your whole beefcake-not-brains speech?” 

“Oh, he’s beefcake all right. Oy vay but he’s got muscles in his arms. Felt like I was grabbing onto an iron railing.”

Together they watched him hoist his backpack onto his back with what Maggie thought was a little too much ease to be discrete.

“So if you want,” Jackie said, “tomorrow I could take that corner table for you-“

“Not a chance,” Maggie said, and left Jackie by the window, steaming up the glass.


	3. Wednesday, Thursday

Wednesday the diner buzzed with customers, so much so that Maggie didn’t realize it was noon until someone corrected her ‘Good Morning’ with ‘Good Afternoon’. She spent the lunch rush distracted, wondering why he hadn’t returned. The answer came later in the afternoon, courtesy of an abandoned copy Times newspaper. Unlike the Bugle, the Times carried more objective reports of Spider-Man’s activities, although in a very small corner of the third page with no photo. According to the paper, the city’s masked hero had spent the evening busting a drug ring, ending a hostage standoff, and thwarting an armed robbery.

“So where’s my hot college boy today?” Jackie asked.

“Out late last night,” Maggie said. “I guess he slept in.”

 

On Thursday he was back, his return marked by a whistle Jackie typically reserved for her soap actors. Busy with a table full of teenagers, Maggie reluctantly nodded at Jackie, giving her the go ahead to seat him at the corner table. 

By the time Maggie got over to him, he’d acquired a coffee, a huge glass of juice, and a massive breakfast muffin that Jackie had apparently squirreled away for him.

“Hewwo, Maggie,” he said around a mouthful of muffin.

“It’s not polite to talk with your mouth full, Sport,” Maggie said, using what her husband called her ‘Mom Voice’. 

“Fowwy,” he said, and smiled at her light laughter. “You know,” he added, after clearing his mouth of muffin, “I really don’t know how you make money here.”

“How’s that?”

“First you with your dollar fifty special, and then that other waitress bringing me all this just for being a regular customer.” He picked up the glass of juice. “You sure are nice to…” 

He paused with the glass to his lips, staring at the napkin that had been beneath it. Jackie’s name and phone number were scrawled upon it in her red lipstick, along with the message “call me!”

Despite his obvious embarrassment, Maggie had to smile. “It seems you have an admirer.” 

He glanced over at where Jackie stood across the diner, craning her neck to see him.

“Don’t worry,” Maggie said. “I’ll tell her you already have a girlfriend.”

His shoulders straightened. “I do, actually.”

“I figured that,” she said gently. His claim had been more than a little defensive. Apparently he’d been a little too interested in science during high school. “I smelled perfume on your coat the other day,” she explained, at his obvious curiousity. “‘Strawberry Spring’, right? Very popular with younger women.”

“I smell like her perfume?”

“It’s not noticeable. I only smelled it because I worked at the Macy’s Fragrance Counter a few years ago. Made me permanently sensitive to things like that.”

“I smell like her perfume,” he repeated. He was staring down at the table, his lips pulled upwards just at the corners, as if remembering the most pleasant day he’d ever had. 

Maggie fervently hoped that his young lady was as in love with him as he obviously was with her. He deserved that happiness at the very least. “So,” she said, hating to interrupt whatever reverie he was having, “we missed you yesterday.”

“Hm? Oh. Yeah. Yesterday I was… running a little behind. Believe me, I wanted to be here for your breakfast special. A bowl of stale cereal is not the same.”

“Well you won’t get that here. You want the same as yesterday? And how about a piece of hot apple pie with ice cream to go with it?”

“That sounds great. I’ll need the energy boost to get through all this homework.” He sat back in his chair and surveyed his books and papers. “You don’t mind that I stay here for so long, do you? I mean, when you have people waiting-“

“Don’t you worry. Anyone tries to kick you out and they’ll answer to Maggie.”

He half turned in his chair, one elbow resting on an open book. “You know, it’s just so funny. I keep thinking I know you, but I don’t remember ever meeting anyone by the name of Maggie.”

“I just have one of those faces. I look like everybody. I hear it all the time. Every day. Look, let me go put in your order, okay Sport? Just sit tight.”

Before he could press any further, she darted back into the diner. By the time she returned with his food, he was deep into his homework, scribbling notes in the margins of the various notebooks he’d spread out. 

“Hardly an inch of free table today,” Maggie noted, to draw his attention to the heavy tray of food she held.

“Sorry about that.” He cleared some space for her to set down his plates. This involved moving still-open books onto the seats of two empty chairs, stacking various piles of papers on them and on the floor, and shoving a calculator that resembled a computer into the pocket of the jacket she’d given him. 

“What is all that, anyway?” she asked.

“Results from an experiment my class is monitoring down the street at PharmaLabs.”

“Nothing dangerous, I hope.”

“We’re being careful.” He took from her a plate so full of pancakes that his eyebrows raised at the sight of it. “Boy, I really am going to miss this place after our time there is done.”

The pie plate Maggie held set down with a clack on the tabletop. “Are you… going somewhere?”

“Our class is only at PharmaLabs for the duration of the experiment. We’re back cross-town next week. A little too far for breakfast, no matter the price.”

“Oh. Well. I… I forgot your coffee. I’ll be right back.” 

Maggie wandered in a daze over to the coffee station. She stood a long while with one hand on the carafe, telling herself that of course she should have known he wouldn’t be coming in here forever. Stupid and selfish of her to think that he would.

Yet her disappointment stole her breath from her. It just wasn’t fair. She wasn’t done yet trying to repay him for all he’d done. It was too soon for him to go.

“Wow, look at that fire!”

Maggie turned at the voice and saw Dave, one of the Diner’s regular counter-sitters, pointing up at the television. On the screen was an image of a pier fully ablaze. Jackie got to the television first, to turn up the volume of the news report. 

“-and the pier at fiftieth street is completely engulfed. The explosion we heard fifteen minutes ago was an unknown amount of combustible drums igniting, trapping fifteen firemen on the roof of a nearby structure where they had been attempting to control the fire-”

The scraping of wooden chair legs across linoleum floor drew Maggie’s attention to where Sport stood by his table, his gaze darting from the television screen to his scattered belongings and back again.

Maggie closed the distance between them with coffee pot still in hand. “I’ll watch your things.”

When he turned to her, Maggie stepped back. Gone was the meek and slouching college boy who sat quietly doing science homework. In his place stood a man with piercing eyes and squared shoulders who faced down armed criminals. “You’ll do what?” he asked, and his voice had a sharpness that she hadn’t heard before. 

“I’ll- You-“ She swallowed, thought fast. “You look like you want to go see what’s happening. I’ll watch your things if you do.” She saw him hesitate, glancing at the television, back at her. “Go!” she urged.

At the word he dashed into the restaurant, dodging two dozen people without bumping even one, then vanishing through the front door before the breeze from his passing had stopped moving Maggie’s skirt.

“Where’s my hottie off to in such a hurry?” Jackie asked as she passed by.

To jump into a burning building. To save people’s lives. “Had to make a phone call,” Maggie said, and collected his plates to put them into the warmer. 

For an hour Maggie tried not to think about him and what he was doing. For an hour she followed the special reports, some of them mentioning but not showing the masked hero. 

When finally he was back, his return was announced by wracking coughs that she could hear over the din of voices and plates and silverware. After drawing a pitcher of water for him, Maggie joined him at his table. 

As she stepped to his side she choked, overwhelmed by the stench of wet firewood, rancid water and chemicals. As bad as he smelled, he looked even worse. His brown hair was soaking wet and badly hand-combed to the side. Water dripped from his bangs onto his soot-covered face, leaving trails of clean skin behind them.

“I put your food in the warmer, S-” Maggie hesitated, feeling odd now about using the nickname. 

He stared at the tabletop, his shoulders bowed. “It’s all right. I’m not hungry.”

Something had happened, she thought. Something bad. “Was Spider-Man able to help those firemen?” she asked, remembering now the news report she’d heard before.

“One fell through the roof before he got there.” He swallowed hard, a motion that moved his entire upper body, as if he were trying not to be ill. “Five stories down. Into the fire.” 

Maggie tried in vain not to think about the man’s wife, children, parents, friends. “But- but he saved the others. Right?”

“Yes.”

No satisfaction in his voice at the men he’d saved. Only grief and pain from the one he’d lost. “But fourteen men are alive because of- of him. He did the best he could.”

“Wasn’t good enough.”

More than anything Maggie wanted to tell him that he was wrong, that of course it was good enough, that she knew it was because she knew who he was, and she owed him her life too, and the life of her daughter, and could never repay him for it. 

But how could she tell him something like that after what he’d just been through? No, she thought. She would tell him tomorrow. Tomorrow she would tell him everything. 

“I’ll go and wrap your food,” she said, though she doubted he heard her or noticed her leave. Only when she returned with the brown bags did he stir. “Before you go,” she told him, “you may want to use these.”

He stared, uncomprehending, at the towel and wet cloth she’d offered him. 

“Your face,” she said, and saw him touch his bare cheek – just like that day on the train – and then look at the soot on his fingers. “Take your time,” she said, as he took the things from her with a vague nod. 

By the time he joined her at the cash register, only faint traces of soot remained on his face and his hair was passably dry and in order. After he’d paid her, he moved to leave, but Maggie put a hand on his arm. “You may want to tuck in the lining of your jeans pocket before you go,” she told him softly. “It’s sticking out a bit.”

He glanced down, saw the piece of red material, and quickly shoved it into his pocket. Without another word, he turned and left the diner.

After he’d gone, Maggie spent all that afternoon thinking of his soot-covered face and haunted eyes. She couldn’t handle the pain she’d seen there. As if all the good he’d done had been taken from him. As if all the people he’d saved had vanished from his memory, replaced by the one man he had lost.

By the time Maggie got home, she had an idea. After giving her daughter a shower of kisses, she asked her mother-in-law to stay a little longer, so that she could run errands. A lot to do before tomorrow, she thought. She needed to get moving.


	4. Friday

On Friday morning Jackie informed her with typical Long Island bluntness that she looked like hell. Maggie said that this was only fitting, since she did in fact feel like hell.

She’d spent most of the night taking calls, making visits, and finishing things up. Her head was muddled from lack of sleep but this exhaustion was tempered with excitement. She kept thinking of what she’d made for him the night before. She hoped that he would like it. Hopefully it would help ease the shock of finding out who she was. Hopefully it would help a lot of things.

His arrival today was earlier than usual. Without waiting for direction, he seated himself at the corner table. Maggie joined him there. “What, no physics this morning?” she asked him, referring to the array of photography magazines he was placing onto the table.

“Our experiment turned out so well that we got a homework-free weekend.” 

“Sounds like a good opportunity to sit around and do nothing.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice,” he said, with considerable enthusiasm.

“You should give it a try. Everybody deserves a weekend off.” She smiled at his thoughtful reaction. “I’ll go get you the usual. You just sit tight.”

Once again after delivering his food, she kept an eye on his progress, and refilled whatever plate she spied getting too empty. He was noticeably more relaxed today, sitting with a magazine on his lap and his chair tilted back on two legs; a seemingly precarious position that worried Maggie not in the least. She doubted if the hand he had on the table holding him steady could have been removed by a crowbar. 

Into relative quiet of the near-empty diner came Dave’s booming voice. The regular was at his seat at the counter, deep into this morning’s edition of the paper. “Take a look at the pictures of that fire,” he said.

Jackie leaned over the counter to see. “What a mess. Do they know what caused it?” 

“Arson. The Bugle says Spider-Man was behind it. Some kinda mafia connection-“ 

“What have I told you about that rag?” Maggie strode over to the man and tore the paper from his fat fingers. “I will not have this crap at my counter.”

“Hey, take it easy, Maggie,” Dave said, leaning his considerable stomach back from the counter and almost upsetting his plate of pork roll.

“Shame on you, believing this garbage.” After shoving the paper into the trash, she grabbed the coffee carafe and headed to Sport’s table. Halfway there, she heard Dave speak again in what he probably considered a low voice.

“What did the Bugle ever to do to her anyway?” 

“Not her. Her guardian angel.”

“Her what?”

“Her guardian angel. Spider-Man.”

Maggie almost dropped the coffee cup she’d picked up from Sport’s table. His head was still lowered as if reading, but his eyes had darted towards her at the mention of his alter ego. 

“Spidey saved our Maggie’s life a few months ago,” Jackie went on, before Maggie could even begin to think of how to stop her. “Right before you started coming in.”

“Oh yeah? What happened?”

“Kept her train from takin a five story dive onto the Manhattan streets after that psycho with the arms hijacked it is what.”

Maggie watched Sport lift his head, his brows pulling together, his eyes widening, as realization and memory echoed on his face. 

“You must have seen it,” Jackie went on. “It was all over the news.”

Maggie stood paralyzed, her heart throbbing against her chest, clutching the coffee mug so tightly that her fingers ached. This was not happening, she thought. He could not find out this way. 

“No way,” Dave said. “You were on that train, Maggie?”

Maggie watched the young hero lift his wide blue eyes to look up at her. “You were in the first car,” he said, his voice low enough so that only she could hear. 

She nodded, unable to say the words.

Lines pulled at the corners of his mouth and eyes as he remembered. “You had a baby with you. A little girl.”

“My daughter,” she said, past a growing tightness in her throat. “Erin.” 

She watched his expression melt from shock to confusion. “Then you know… And all week…” 

He paused, and as she looked down at him Maggie saw something in his expression she had never expected. Oh my God, she thought. He’s afraid. 

“I should go,” he announced. 

He stood and stuffed his magazines into his backpack. “No- please-“ She shook her head at his frantic motions. “You don’t have to- I mean- I wouldn’t- None of us would-“

“I know.” He shrugged on his coat. “I should still go.” 

“But I have something for you,” she said in a weak voice. “From all of us…” 

But he was already striding through the diner towards the front door, and before she could utter another word, he had vanished into the crowds outside.

She stood by the table staring down at his chair long enough that Jackie came over to her. “Don’t ask,” Maggie choked out, and disappeared for a long while into the kitchen.


	5. Friday Night

That night when Maggie got home and saw her daughter’s smiling face, she tried to put the day’s events behind her. After her mother-in-law left, she fell into the familiarity and peace of her nightly routine, feeding and bathing Erin and then putting her to bed. 

By nine, Maggie had changed into a T-shirt and cotton pants and could finally sit down. She wished Ted were home. She wanted to tell him everything that had happened this week. Maybe he could figure out a way to fix things. There had to be something she could do.

The sound of her door buzzer made her jump. Wary of visitors at this hour, she went to the door and peered through the peephole. When she saw who was there, she quickly undid the lock and with fumbling hands pulled open the door.

In her hallway stood Sport, wearing a dress shirt, black pants and tie, his brown hair neatly combed to the side, his hands deep in the pockets of her husband’s black wool coat. The formal clothing added several years to his appearance. Amazing what a change of clothes could do, she thought. Especially in his case.

“Hi,” he said.

“Why are you... How did you find me?” Her eyes widened. “Did you…” She pointed a finger skyward. Moved it side to side.

He pulled a hand from his pocket, displaying a napkin that bore Jackie’s handwriting. “I asked the other waitress for your address. She thought I was your nephew.”

She felt warmth in her cheeks. “Oh. Right.” 

“A good thing,” he added, as if to ease her embarrassment. “She might not have told me where you lived otherwise. And then I would have had to… you know…” 

He pointed a finger skyward and mimicked her gesture with such an awkward smile that Maggie nearly burst out laughing. It was too absurd, him standing in her hallway, making jokes at his own expense. 

“Maybe I should come in?” 

“Yes! Of course, yes, please, come in. It’s only me and Erin here tonight. My husband’s in Jersey till tomorrow.” A squeak came from under his foot as he walked into the apartment. She bent down, picked up her daughter’s toy rubber duck and closed the door behind him. “Sorry about the mess.” 

“At least it’s just toys. You wouldn’t be able to see my floor if my girlfriend didn’t…” 

He obviously hadn’t meant to say anything so personal. “I already knew about your girlfriend,” she said, hoping to ease his discomfort. “The perfume. Remember?” After a moment staring at her he nodded, shoving his hands back into his pockets. “Why are you here?” she found herself asking.

“I’m not really sure,” he admitted, with a candor that surprised her. ”Things just felt… unfinished. I wanted to finish them.”

So he meant to stay more than a few minutes, she thought. With an awkward sweep of her arm, she gestured to the couch. They sat down a polite distance from one another upon it.

“I at least wanted to apologize for how I left today,” he said.

“You don’t need to apologize to me. I’m the one who should be apologizing to you for not telling you the truth from the start.”

“Sometimes we have to hide the truth in order to help people.” He gave her a knowing smile. “Thanks for all those twenty dollar breakfasts, by the way.”

Maggie felt another surge of heat in her face. “It was nothing.” 

“No, it was something.” His voice carried more than a little authority. “And if I’d been thinking straight, I would have known that this morning.” 

“I don’t blame you for running out. I should have known that finding out the truth after so many days would make you… I don’t know…”

“Completely freak out?”

“Well, yes, though I was thinking more along the lines of ‘feel exposed’.” 

One corner of his mouth pulled upward. “You’d think I’d be used to that after what happened on the train.” At her laughter, he tilted his head at her, his eyes scanning her face. “You know, I never expected to see anyone from that train car again.”

“I never thought I’d see you again either. I mean, not as you. I have thought about it though. The others have too.”

“Others?”

“From the train. Actually, I have something for you from all of us. I was going to give it to you today, after I told you the truth. And I was going to tell you, before Jackie beat me to it.”

He watched her get up from the couch to retrieve a brand new backpack from behind a nearby chair. “You don’t have to give me anything, Maggie. Anything else, I mean,” he added, and held up a corner of his coat.

“My husband is not going to miss that coat. Trust me, if it doesn’t have a Giants logo on it, he won’t wear it. As for this, if I don’t give it to you, I’m going to have my butt kicked by a couple dozen angry New Yorkers. You don’t want that, do you?” She sat down closer to him than she had before. He smelled of the city, a not unpleasant scent made up of cold air and fresh food and wool.

“Thanks,” he said, taking the backpack from her. “I really could use a new one-“

“The backpack isn’t the main present. That’s inside.” 

He pulled a large black scrapbook from the bag and opened it on his lap. Pasted upon the front page was a newspaper article about the train incident. 

“I made some calls last night to the other people from the train. I didn’t tell them anything specific,” she said at his sideways glance. “Just that I had a way to get in touch with you.”

“You all knew each other?” he asked incredulously.

“Not before. After. We exchanged phone numbers at the Red Cross station.” A very non-Manhattan thing to do. Funny how almost dying could bring such a diverse group of people together. “Anyway, when I told them about my idea, they all wanted to contribute. The newspaper article is just so you remember where we’re all from. The good stuff is next.” She turned to the next page for him. A few pieces of paper and handmade cards slid from the book. Maggie retrieved them from the floor. “It’s a scrapbook about all of us from the first car. One page per person, though most people gave me more than I could fit. So I pasted the photos on the pages and tucked the cards and other things in with them.” 

He had picked up a crayon drawing of a man in red and blue holding out one hand to stop a train. Stick figures stood around him cheering. Below them were the words: “Thank you Mister Spiderman for saving Grandpa we love him very much we love you too!!! XOXOXO”

For a long time he stared at the card, his lips pressed together, his young face softly lit by the nearby lamp. 

“The whole book is like that,” she said gently. “Pictures of all the people you saved and thanks from all of their families.” She leaned forward, elbows on knees, studying his profile. “Just think how big the book would be if everyone on the five cars behind us had a page. Or for that matter, if anyone you’d ever helped in this city had a page. I doubt even you would be able to carry it.”

His shoulders rose and fell slowly with a soft breath expelled through parted lips. “I’ve… never been given anything like this,” he said, a touch of adolescence breaking his voice.

“I thought it might help on days like Thursday.” The words drew his gaze, and for a moment the ghost of that pain haunted his eyes. “It’s what they teach us in nursing school,” she explained. “Cope with the ones who don’t make it by remembering the ones who do.”

He returned his attention to the card he held. With a shake of his head, he placed it almost reverently back into the book.

“I almost forgot to mention,” Maggie said, wanting to give him a little emotional breathing space. “At the back of the book you’ll find a list of our names, addresses, phone numbers, email, and what we do for a living. A quick reference guide of all the people who can help you.”

“Help me?”

“It turns out we’re a pretty useful bunch. A doctor, a lawyer, a computer guy, a travel agent… a lot of useful types. And I’ll be a certified nurse next year, though I’m pretty good with triage already.”

He sat back against the couch with the book on his lap. “I have to say that I never expected this when I came here tonight.”

“What did you expect?”

He gave her a long, penetrating look. “I guess… I was curious.”

“Curious?” 

“You could have taken my picture,” he said abruptly. “You could have called the news.”

Maggie unhooked the baby monitor from her belt hoop. Erin’s light breathing filled the space between them. “You hear that? That is the sound of a person who would not be here right now if it weren’t for you. For that, I owe you. I owe you big. No amount of money or fame would change that, Sport.”

He accepted this after a moment with a nod, then returned his attention to the scrapbook on his lap. “I can’t believe you did this. It really is amazing.”

“Amazing is what you do. This is just a thank you.”

He was silent a long time. “Tell them… Tell them I said ‘you’re welcome’.”

He had no idea how much that simple message would mean to her friends. “Almost better than a twenty dollar breakfast, isn’t it.”

“With or without the pie?”

She laughed at the playful tone. “Without. I made that pie from scratch myself. Actually, I have another one in the fridge if you’d like some.”

“I really should be-“

“I could heat it up. Put some vanilla ice cream on it. Cool Whip too,” she added, and knew she had him, at the way he licked his lips.

“I guess I could stay for one slice of pie,” he said. “I don’t have to be anywhere till later tonight.” The smitten smile she’d seen before returned now. “Late date with my girlfriend.”

“In that case I’ll make it to go,” Maggie said.

Within minutes the microwave was humming away and she was digging in the icebox for a half pint of vanilla. Only after the microwave had finished and she’d pulled her head from the freezer did she hear the sirens. Her preparations had hidden the sound. Astonishing, considering how many of them there were.

Behind her, the light from the living room disappeared. Maggie checked the baby monitor hooked to her belt hoop. It was still working. The lights in the kitchen lights were still on too. The pie forgotten, she stepped into the dark living room. 

A male figure stood by the window, illuminated by the pale light of the city outside.

“I hope you don’t mind,” came his muffled voice. “I figured… since you know… and it’ll save me time…”

Maggie couldn’t believe he’d managed to change his clothes so quickly. Even in the ambient lighting she could distinguish the red and blue form-fitting costume, its webbing stretched over the pronounced musculature of his body, its huge black spider spread across his chest.

“It’s okay,” she said, remembering belatedly what he’d asked her. 

“I hope I didn’t scare you with the light. It’s better if no one sees me leave.” 

“There’s a stairway… to the roof…” 

“This is faster,” he said, and put a leg over the windowsill. He paused halfway out, to duck his head back under the windowpane. The eyepieces of his mask glowed from the outside light. “I didn’t have time to gather the things you gave me,” he said. “You could leave them outside your door-“

“They’ll be right here where you left them,” she said, pulling herself together. “I’ll leave the window open.”

“It could take a while.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

He hesitated, but when a fire truck added its horn to the sirens, he ducked through the window and was gone.

Maggie ran to the window and leaned out into the cool night, searching for any sign of a swinging form between the buildings. At the sound of crumbling stone from above, she grabbed onto the inside window trim and looked up the exterior of her building. Above her, a dark shape climbed with inhuman grace and speed to the roof. From there it launched itself into the air, and then swung off into the night.

 

“Maggie.”

She could tell from the fabric against her face that she wasn’t in her bed. No, she remembered, she’d lay down to rest on the sofa, and must have fallen asleep. Her head cloudy, she opened her eyes and saw in the dim light of the nearby window that Sport was crouching next to her, maskless but still in costume. According to the clock behind him, he’d been gone almost an hour. 

“Sorry it took so long. I didn’t want to wake you, but…” He nodded down at her arm, which she’d looped through the strap of the backpack that held his things. 

“I didn’t want you to sneak off without your pie,” she said, and pushed herself up to an elbow. “It’s in the refrigerator. I can go get it-“

“There’s something I need to tell you.” 

She sat up, worried by his distant tone and troubled eyes. “What is it?” 

“It’s just…. I want you to know just how much I appreciate the offer you made to help me. All of you. It means…”

She watched him shake his head, obviously unable to convey what he felt. “We want to help you,” Maggie said. “Just like you helped us.”

“But that’s the problem. I can’t let you.”

“But why?”

“Spider-Man has many enemies. They’ve hurt people I care about. People have almost died. Being involved with me means being in danger. You and your families. I can’t let you do that.”

Maggie’s hand strayed to the baby monitor at her hip. Her fingers clutched at its cool plastic case, muffling the soft breathing sounds of her sleeping daughter.

At her silence he nodded. “I should go,” he said softly, and reached for his bag. 

“Wait.” Maggie put a hand on his shoulder, angry with herself that she’d doubted her decision to help him even for a second. It was no decision at all. “Look,” she said, “I’ll be sure to tell the others. But I don’t think they’re going to change their minds. I know I won’t.”

“You don’t understand-“

“What it means to be in danger? You’re wrong there.”

“What happened on the train that day was partly because of me -“

“I’m not talking about what happened on the train. I’m talking about what happened two days before the train.” She leaned back against the couch, the baby monitor cradled in her hands. “You want to know about the danger my family is in? How about this: Two days before the train, Erin and I were on the way to her pediatrician appointment. Just a routine outing. Except that two blocks into the ride, a car broadsides us, crushing in the passenger side of our cab. Erin and I were okay, but we might not have been. If I’d decided to sit on that side instead of behind the driver, or if I hadn’t put Erin’s carseat in the middle…” She shook her head, banishing those thoughts.

“Maggie, being in a car accident isn’t the same as someone pointing a gun at you or- or- someone throwing you off the top of a bridge.”

“No,” she said, sobered by what she sensed were real examples. “It’s not. And I won’t claim to understand the type of danger you’re in day after day. But you can’t say that you understand what types of dangers my family faces either. You want to know what my husband does for a living?” 

The question caught him off guard. “You mean… his job?” 

“He’s a construction worker. A nice, normal job, right? Except that every day he climbs around on steel girders twenty stories up to do it. And then there’s me. A waitress now, but next year I’ll be nursing. Another nice, normal job. Except that I’ll be working in an ER in New York City, where I’m likely to be treating gang war victims, heroin addicts and homeless psychotics.” 

She watched him lower his head, his bangs sliding into his downcast eyes. She wished she could erase the doubt in his eyes. He so clearly needed to trust someone. “Look, I’m not saying that fighting bad guys is the same as… as… falling from ten stories up because of a bad safety harness or getting shot while tending to a kid in a gang.” She sent a quick, silent prayer heavenward for having voiced these fears aloud. “But there are parallels.”

“Risks of the job, you mean.” 

“Risks of being alive. Like that damn cab accident. If it hadn’t been for that, I wouldn’t have even been on the train that day. I only took the train because I thought it would be safer.”

He looked at her a long time in silence. “I guess I forget sometimes,” he said finally.

“Forget?”

“That I’m not the only one who takes risks. I guess I’ve been doing this so long…” He looked down at the costume he wore. “I forget what it’s like. Living a normal life.”

Maggie studied his thoughtful expression in the dim lighting. “Boy,” she said, “was Gary wrong.”

Again she caught him off guard. “Who?” 

“One of the men from the train. When he saw your face, he said that you were only a kid. But he was wrong. You’re not a kid. But you are young. And you do still have a lot to learn.”

He received this bit of unsolicited motherly advice with light laughter that shook his shoulders. “So I keep hearing lately.” 

She decided to let this rather cryptic statement pass. “So you’ll let us help you?” 

He hesitated so long that she thought she was going to have to argue the point further. “I don’t suppose you could start now?” he said instead, lifting a hand from his forearm to show her the bloody gash in his costume. “Maybe just a bandage for the road-”

“Good Lord!” Maggie almost wrenched her back in her haste to kneel by his side. “What happened?”

“It’s not that bad. It just won’t stop bleeding.” He let her turn his arm left and right to inspect the wound. “I’d take care of it later, but I don’t want to stain my shirt. My girlfriend just bought it for me.”

This was such a genuinely adolescent statement that Maggie couldn’t help but laugh. “Your girlfriend. Well. We can’t have that then, can we.” 

“It’s got snaps in the front,” he protested, sounding even more like a teenager. “Do you know how hard it is to find a dress shirt with front snaps that look like buttons?”

“I have to say I don’t,” she said, and stood up. “Come on. I have a first aid kit in the kitchen.”

As he stood, the pronounced muscles of his legs and arms altered the topography of the webbing over his body. Jackie would have fainted dead away at the sight. 

In the kitchen, Maggie retrieved her emergency medical supplies from under the sink. “Go ahead and have a seat at the table,” she said, and turned to find him already there, his arm resting on the table, his gloved hand pressing down on his forearm.

The 100 watt bulb added a strange dimensionality and force of presence to his costume. So odd to see him seated by Erin’s highchair, dressed from the neck down in his famous red-and-blues, the black spider stretched out on his chest. 

“What is it?” he asked.

“It’s just… a little strange. You, sitting there, dressed like that, in my kitchen.” 

“For me too,” he confided. “I feel a little… overdressed.”

“If it would make you more comfortable, I could put my nursing hat on.”

He eyed the extensive first aid supplies she had set out on the table. “That’s okay. I believe you’re a nurse.”

“Soon-to-be nurse. It’s my secret identity,” Maggie said with a conspiratorial grin. “During the day, I’m just Maggie the Waitress. Which reminds me.” She went to the refrigerator, retrieving from it an apple pie. Within seconds of handing him a fork, he’d already taken several bites.

“Wow,” Maggie noted.

“Fowwy.” He swallowed what he’d been chewing. “It makes me really hungry. You know.” One gloved finger pointed skyward and moved left to right.

“Conducting an orchestra?”

“A big orchestra.”

He’d already eaten a whole slice of pie. Based on the eating habits she’d seen this past week, she had no doubt he could finish off the entire thing. “So is that a glove that you can take off?” 

It had apparently not occurred to him that she intended to treat the wound. “That’s all right. I can take care of it. I’ve done it before.”

She didn’t want to imagine how many times. “You’re telling a future nurse not to treat an open wound?” 

He responded to her tone as any smart young man would, by putting down his fork to pull off his red glove and push up the material of his costume past the gash.

Flecks of paint and dirt and wooden splinters peppered the skin around the wound. “What did this anyway?”

“Broken chunk of the pier. Or maybe the boat that hit it. Not sure, actually.”

Maggie began cleaning what was apparently half of the East Side Docks from his arm. “You must give some tailor a lot of work,” she said, nodding at his costume. 

“Actually I’ve gotten pretty good with a needle and thread.” 

Maggie doubted that any other man could have said this with as little concern for his masculinity. “Well if you ever need a professional tailor, there’s a woman on the list that repairs clothes for a local dry cleaners. Might be able to help in your line of work. Maybe even figure out an outfit that’s a little more durable.”

“How about less itchy?” 

She realized he was having quite a bit of fun joking about this subject. She wondered how often he had the opportunity to do so. “While we’re on the topic of your list of helpers,” she said, “I want to specifically mention the name Samuel Kravitz. He’s an ER doctor at Saint Francis Hospital. If God forbid you should ever get really hurt, go there and ask for him. He’ll take care of you. Confidentially, of course.”

The forkful of pie he’d been about to eat paused halfway to his mouth. “What about the more normal things? Flu, blood tests, things like that. Does he do that too?”

“For you he would.”

“A real checkup would be nice,” he said, as if this were a novel concept.

She picked up some gauze bandages. “You were right about this cut, by the way. It wasn’t that bad. You’ll be on your way before you finish off the last of that pie.”

“Sorry I don’t have a dollar fifty for you this time.”

“That’s okay,” she told him, thinking of the envelope she’d hidden in the bottom of his bag, the one with all the money he’d given her in it. “This one’s on the house anyway, Sport.”

He put another huge forkful of pie in his mouth. “Feetrr.”

Maggie glanced up from her work on his arm, saw him wipe his mouth with the back of his gloved hand. Pie crumbs stuck to the black webbing. “What’s that?”

“Peter,” he said quietly. “My name. It’s Peter.”

She stared across the table at him. He’d had no reason to tell her that, she thought. No reason except that he wanted her to know. That he trusted her to know. 

She wanted to reach across the table and hug him. Instead, she returned to her work on his arm. “Don’t talk with your mouth full, Peter,” she told him, using her best Mom tone yet. 

Any hint of tension at his revelation vanished into a broad grin. “Sorry, Maggie,” he said, and started in on the last of the pie.

Fifteen minutes later, Maggie knelt by her living room window, her head and shoulders extended out into the cool Manhattan night, watching a costumed figure wearing a backpack climb up the outside of her building to her roof. 

Though his arm was no longer bleeding, he’d decided to stay in costume and take the faster route to his girlfriend. He was apparently late meeting her as it was.

Before he’d climbed out her window, Maggie had touched the sides of his masked face and kissed him lightly on the forehead, the same way she’d kissed Erin goodnight earlier that evening. “Angels watch over you, Peter,” she’d whispered. 

Hopefully that had cemented this evening in his memory. Hopefully he would keep his promise, and ask for her help if he ever was in trouble. She suspected he would. He was a nice young man. The type of man who kept his promises.

High above, Maggie watched him stretch out a bandaged arm and shoot forth an almost invisible strand of webbing to the building across the street. He swung away with one hand raised in parting, before that arm stretched in front of him too, to shoot forth another web.

“Yowza,” Maggie said, and stared after him long after he’d vanished into the night.


End file.
